


Walda Vs. Walda

by sternflammenden



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Crack, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-19
Updated: 2011-11-19
Packaged: 2017-10-26 06:32:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/279844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sternflammenden/pseuds/sternflammenden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Absolute crackfic.</p><p>Fat Walda and Fair Walda (and Roose, of course) at the Red Wedding, written for a "rivalries" prompt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Walda Vs. Walda

_It was much more fun_ , she thought, _coming to a wedding when you were married._ There were no well-meaning relatives to cluck their tongues and fret over your advanced age, you getting on in years, and the bride so much younger. You didn’t have to worry about the moment when the dancing would begin and you’d be left alone, standing awkwardly with the elderly and the undesirable, a spectator to everyone’s merriment. It was, in a way, freedom, to be bound to someone, as odd as it sounded. Walda had no cause for complaint. Her new husband was quite dutiful, and while he was not the most overly affectionate man, she was satisfied with what attention he did pay her.

She’d been having a marvelous time, showing off her new identity as Lady Bolton of the Dreadfort, clad in an appropriately tinted pale pink dress. The myrish lace design betrayed her recent rise, and she enjoyed the envious looks that she received from her hordes of Frey cousins. She’d talked to Lady Stark, the Queen Mother, who she’d never dreamed of meeting, and danced with, of all people, the King in the North. The auburn-haired youth was courtly and graceful, and turned a fine figure, but Walda secretly preferred her lord husband, and the thought, which came unbidden to her as King Robb escorted her back to her seat, almost shocked her.

She giggled to think of it afterwards, as she indulged in a lemoncake. She was just one of many obligations to Robb Stark, but she was certainly the only woman in her husband’s bed. Walda made sure of that, hiring the ugliest, most ungainly maids that she could find, most of whom were terrified of her dear Lord of Bolton, unwilling to linger when he entered her chambers, avoiding the very idea of him as they slunk around the Dreadfort, eyes wide. She watched him with interest as he held forth with Ser Ryman, his expression laconic, and felt at strange surge of pride at her Frey relative’s obvious discomfort.

He’d only been chivalrous to her. Certainly, there was not a large degree of conjugal warmth in the marriage, but he pleasured her well enough when they bedded together, and was content to sit silently and indulgently while she held forth on whatever matter came to mind. She knew that she pleased him well enough; he’d said so on numerous occasions, and when she’d told him that morning that she suspected that she was already with child, he’d calmly barred the door and had taken her right then and there, in their borrowed bed. She presumed that it was a reward of sorts.

Her elder cousin, Fair Walda, had been glaring at her the entire evening, and she now stood behind the dessert table, her sour expression clashing horribly with her lovely features and delicate blue gown. Everyone had thought that Roose would choose her, Walda recalled with a smirk, and when her cousin had compared her rejection to narrowly dodging the thrust of a blade, it had only rung false, the sour grapes evident in every word. _Nineteen and a maid_ , Walda thought. _It is a pity, though._ She took a large bite of the cake, and when she did, Fair Walda’s voice rang out through the din of the celebration.

“Aren’t you fat enough without shoving another of those revolting things down your throat?” Walda did not react; she merely looked at her cousin with an amused expression. She took another bite, chewing deliberately, which only seemed to annoy her cousin further. Fair Walda continued. “Everyone thinks that your marriage is a joke, you know. Even your husband. He only chose you because of the dowry.”

Walda was unimpressed. “What would you know of marriages, cousin?” she said sweetly, the picture of innocence. “As I recall, you are still not spoken for.” She took another pastry, this one a cherry tart, and toyed with the crust. “I pray the gods send you a husband as tender and as sweet as mine.” She took a bite then, watching with a strange delight as her cousin’s expression darkened, and she finished the sweet with relish.

“You are such a little fool,” Fair Walda snapped, her voice cold. “And so is your husband, to marry such a fat, stupid girl when he could have had –“

“You must forgive me,” Walda said, interrupting, as she yawned. “I slept rather poorly last night. We were quite…occupied. I am weary.” She smiled genuinely then, a satisfied expression twisting her lips, and watched her husband rise from the banquet tables and head in her direction, apparently finished with his courtesies for the evening. He looked perfunctorily at Fair Walda, and turned to his consort.

“Little wife, it is high time that you retired for the evening.” His voice was calm yet firm. It was not a suggestion. At her frown, he shook his head. “Think of the babe,” he whispered, his hand brushing her stomach. It was far too early for her to show, but she could tell that the gesture was not lost on Fair Walda, who looked murderous. It was just too unfair, really.

She kissed him firmly on the lips, her enthusiasm only serving to amuse her lord husband, who took her by the arm and led her out of the room. Walda did not mind. The bedding was over, and there was nothing left to see but the inevitable drunken foolishness that followed. “Oh Roose,” she said, planting a kiss on his cheek, “you are so solicitous! Will you be long?” She did not notice the rather dark expression that momentarily flashed across his face; she was completely oblivious to any of the plans that had been laid.

“Not terribly,” he murmured, mind on other matters, as they entered their chambers. Walda sat on the edge of the bed, and he joined her. “Little wife,” he said, cupping her face in his hand and looking meaningfully at her, “you are to stay here until I return. Do not leave under any circumstances. Do not even get out of bed.”

Walda was confused for a few moments until the realization dawned on her. She grinned broadly at the implication and her cheeks colored. “You would have me wait up for you then?” He nodded, and she giggled. “This is a strange game, I warrant, but well worth a try.” She gave him what she hoped was a seductive look. “What should I wear?” she whispered, her eyes downcast.

He chuckled, giving her breast a squeeze. His touch wasn’t cruel, and it made her squeal with delight. “As little as you like, Walda. Surprise me.”

“That I will, you can be sure. Hurry back, sweetheart,” she sighed, planting another kiss on him, this time on his mouth, and she was pleasantly surprised when he enthusiastically returned her affections.

When he’d gone, she took great pains to hang up her new gown, slid out of her stays, brushed out her hair, and waited patiently as she was told. She hoped that he wouldn’t be _terribly_ long.


End file.
